Category: music
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20.10: Kintsugi’s Language of Lacquer
This poem is inspired by Spira’s Edo era music creation, and I highly recommend that you listen to his creation. Language, here, is not a melody but a collection of lacquered shards — each word a resonant fragment. The music lives in the gaps, in the negative space (ma), and in the reader’s act of golden repair…
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19 Oct: SenHai #22
Cold Fire Senryū Bare branches claw up —The sky bleeds its wounds in hues.A cold, lonely prayer. Haiku Winter branches tracemoon’s veiled, burning palette —night’s silent, cold fire. Written for SenHai #22. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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17.10: Journal of Thoughts
A Wednesday in October I.I am wearing long socks and music, and watching clouds turn angry. The morning’s been a car chase — after notes, after sounds. The clock’s ticking, lending the day its rhythm. II.He wears old dark colours. Wool and boots. Leaves dropping all around him. The bones of trees are bent his…
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17 Oct: A Six Sentence Story
Carrying the Weight The old man carried the village’s silence up the mountain each morning. Not in a sack, but in the hollow humming of his throat. It was the weight of unmade decisions, and need left unsaid. At the summit, he’d open his mouth, and let the wind take it all. The valley below…
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16.10: dVerse Headless
A Steed’s Lament in Sleepy Hollow They call me omen, call me curse,a shadow-mare to haul the headless hearse.He grips my flanks with knees of bone,and rides me through the mourner’s moan. I toss my mane — he cannot see.I choose the path — what use is he?I’ve borne the weight of sin and dread,but…
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14.10: A Six – The Book of 27
23 of 27 — Wraithborne: A Glance Mistaken for Something Else The Taste of Almost Brigid notices the smudge first — a violet-ash on her teacup’s rim, still warm, the shape of a thumbprint, the weight of an unfinished thought — and this would mean nothing, except she lives alone, and has done for many…
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13 Oct: The Key
The Key That soundof the lock surrendering.Of ancient fingersfinally answering. I am the keeperof the lock.Of its click.The finder of its form in its beautiful chaos.I keep turning the keys.I keep listeningfor the locks to click. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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10.10: The Last Clear Map
To Avignon: The Last Clear Map 28 September (waiting in ferry queue at Newhaven)I.maps dream in the gloveboxthe sunrise is our compassour clocks are made of salt II.the sea pulls at usaway from white cliffs writinglove letters in chalk 29 SeptemberI.journey’s labyrinth —coins, a prayer, the bells ring,my soul leaves, fed by light. 30 SeptemberI.black…
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8 Oct: A Six – The Book of 27
22 of 27: Thundershade – a Colour once felt, not seen—Faith in resonance, sight through storm Thundershade — Faith in resonance, sight through storm The night was blind-thick with silence and hidden behind clouds — then came thunder crawling through the walls, low and certain, and she knew the storm was already standing on the…
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8.10: A Six Sentence Story
The Small Matter at the Aire de la Clermont-Ferrand Rest Stop The cubicle door springs open with a bang, and a woman emerges; our eyes meet in a flash of mutually accusatory side-eye, wads of loo roll fill both of her hands. “French toilets,” she drawls with a weary little heaven-tilt of the head, the…
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